Daughter of Smoke and Beer
by threnoidia
Summary: / #1 Litany AU / 1x01-10x05 Spoilers / While working a witchy gig in Ashland, Kansas, the Winchesters stumble across something supernatural they've never seen before. It seems the blue-haired rebel girl who talks Dean up at the bar has far more than her fair share of secrets. And as the plot thickens, there's more at work here than even Cas expected.
1. Chapter 1

**As promised, here is the start of my Supernatural Litany AU. This takes place after 10x05 and will diverge from canon here on out. I suppose this is _my_ version of Supernatural. As always, I'd love to know what you think!**

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><p><span>ASHLAND, KANSAS<span>

PRESENT DAY

Every Friday night saw Sal's Bar filled to the brim with regulars and noisy young folks out to have a good time. Chatter hummed over the classic rock blaring from the antique jukebox. Liqueur was poured into polished glasses and artfully slid down the bar toward each patron. In a small town like Ashland, everyone knew Sal's was the only place to be after another week's work was finally over.

Sliding into the only empty booth in the whole place, Dean Winchester took a swig of beer. Over the top of the bottle, keen green eyes scanned the good-natured chaos. Six huge bikies were singing a very out-of-tune rendition of Elvis Presley's _Blue Suede Shoes_ in the far corner. A group of rather tipsy women seemed to be part of a bachelorette party, judging by the fluorescent feather boas around their necks. Most-likely-underage teens were getting drunk in a shadowy booth. A gaggle of men roared and hissed at sport on a crappy television over by the bar.

If he didn't know any better, Dean would have assumed it was just an ordinary crowd. But he did know better. _Hell_ did he knowbetter. He glanced at his cell, checking for messages. There was no little envelope icon signalling Sam had located the blackmail photos. Dean sighed heavily, rolling his shoulders to loosen the tension. It had been a fortnight since the crazy gig with the play and Calliope, but there were parts of him that still ached.

_I'm willing to accept that monsters are real, but those books... are works of _fiction_. And you guys are way too old to be Sam or Dean._

'"Way too old,"' he muttered darkly, 'Hmph.' He tossed the phone onto the table and wiped his hands over his face.

'Long day, hottie?'

Dean's hand leapt to the pistol resting on his thigh. At the same time, his gaze jerked up to meet violet eyes and a suggestive smile. She was pretty in the way a vixen in a hen house might be; a dangerous flash of red amongst the normalcy around her. Without invitation, she slipped into the seat opposite him.

'Uh, you lost, kid?' Dean raised his eyebrows. Deciding she didn't look a day over twenty, he wondered what the Hell kind of angle she was playing. He soon found out.

'Kid?' Hooker red lips parted in a grin. 'Oh, honey, I can't be.' She leaned in as if about to share a secret. 'I know _way_ too much to be a kid.'

Her wink and short laugh were far too flirtatious for Dean's liking. Sure, he still liked to have a romp every now and again – but this girl was just that… a _girl_. With a dry chuckle he stared her down. 'Look, I don't really wanna get myself some jail time, so you're gonna have to scram.'

She pouted, wiping a pretend tear from her cheek. 'Twenty-three too young for ya? Most guys like that about me.'

'Yeah? Well, I ain't "most guys", sweetheart.' Dean leaned back, idly noticing her luminescent blue hair. 'And I'm here on business, anyhow.'

Like some sort of curious raven, she tilted her head to the side. 'Oh, yeah?'

The cell phone buzzing loudly against the table made them both jump. The girl recovered first and reached out. Dean cussed under his breath as she snatched his cell away and swiped the screen.

'Hey there.'

'Hey!' Dean leaned forward, his chest to the table, clawing in vain at the air. He could hear Sam's confused voice through the speaker.

'Yeah, he's right here.' The girl smiled at Dean, tilting as far away from him as she could get. She was out of reach and she knew it. Momentarily lowering the phone, she chirped, 'It's your brother.'

'I_ know_!' he growled, 'Now hand me the phone before you get yourself hurt!'

Her natural coloured brown eyebrows quirked. 'Are you gonna beat me up?' she questioned mockingly. 'A forty year old drifter attacking defenceless little me in the town where everyone knows I'm an _angel_. I can't wait to see how that turns out for ya.'

Once Dean was done figuring out she didn't actually mean "angel" literally, and trying not to completely lose his temper at "forty year old", he got to his feet. He was careful to settle the gun on the seat, beneath the table. 'Listen kid, this is important.' He tried to appeal to her sense of morality, knowing as well as she did that he couldn't touch her. _No doubt she'll just start screamin'_. 'Matter of life and death, actually. So I need my phone back.'

To his heightening frustration, the girl simply fluttered her heavily mascaraed eyelashes. 'Oh, yeah,' she told Sam, apparently answering a question. 'Thomas Mackay's always been on the wrong side of the locals. Since he got here … Uhm, 'bout three years ago now … I also happen to know about – yeah, yeah, that's right. Wow, you're pretty smart.'

'Oh, c_ome on!_' Dean threw his hands in the air. He collapsed back into the booth and crossed his arms.

'Your brother's having a tantrum,' she informed Sam.

His best withering glare didn't faze her. Which only annoyed Dean more. 'Kid, give me the damn phone. I ain't askin' again.'

'Nice chatting to ya, Sam.' Without warning, the blue-haired girl tossed the cell over the table.

Startled, Dean only just managed to snatch it from harm. 'Thanks,' he grunted sarcastically.

'No problem,' she grinned, adding another wink.

'Sam?'

'I thought you were workin'.' His brother's voice was tired but Sam was still teasing, so he wasn't completely beat yet.

'I was,' Dean growled, 'Then Little Miss Pain in the Arse turned up.'

'She's actually proved pretty useful,' Sam admitted, 'I think I've worked it out.'

'Just tell me what you got,' Dean grated out.

He could practically hear Sam smiling through the phone. There was the sound of shuffling papers and then, 'This lawyer, Thomas Mackay, he isn't liked around here. More so since he forced Mrs Harrison out of her house. When they bulldozed the place, they didn't bother doing anything to the cellar.'

'You mean they built _on top _of it? I'm no builder, but I'm betting that's against a few regulations.'

'It's downright dangerous.' Papers shuffled again. 'We found the first hex bag in the library, where Miss Hanley choked to death. It looks like she had a lot to do with convincing Mrs Harrison to sell up to Mackay.'

'She deserve to die for that?'

'_I_ don't think so, but clearly someone else felt differently.'

'Yeah,' Dean sighed. 'And the photos? Are they in the office?'

'I'm still looking. Any sign of our not-so-friendly neighbourhood witch for hire?'

Dean glanced at his watch. 'Meet-and-greet should start any minute now.'

'Right. I'll find these photos and meet you back at the motel.' Sam paused. 'Dean, how old is the girl?'

'Reckons she's twenty three.' Dean made a face when his unwanted companion poked her tongue out at him. 'But she _acts_ like she's thirteen.'

'Dude, you're not… I mean…' Sam stuttered through the phone, and it took a moment for Dean to realise what his brother was alluding to.

'Aw, dude, no! No, I'm about to send her home to her Mama so she can be ready for school in the morning.'

'That's … Sorry, man. I -'

'Just find the damn photos and meet me back at the motel in twenty.'

'Right.' Sam took an audible breath before adding, 'And Dean? Be careful.'

'You too, little brother.' Dean hung up and slipped the cell into his pocket. 'Listen, twinkle toes,' he started, but realised the girl wasn't paying attention to him anymore. Her unusually coloured eyes were fixed on the doorway.

He followed her line of sight and immediately reached for his pistol, returning it to the flat of his thigh.


	2. Chapter 2

Footsteps rapped down the hallway. Sam froze, in the midst of prying a length of wood from a heavy mahogany desk. Crouched slap bang in the middle of the Honourable Thomas Mackay's office, Sam realised there weren't many options for winning hide and seek. With a quick rap of his knuckles he undid all his hard work, re-sealing the secret compartment. He moved to slip the knife into his belt.

'Yes, Mrs Priest, I'm sure it's _very_ important. I'm afraid, however, that I have some business of my own to attend to.' The velveteen, slightly nasal voice of the lawyer was distinctive even muted by the thick glass door. In a whirl of beige cardigan and crisp silver perm, the portly woman he was addressing stomped away toward the stairs.

Mackay sighed, an expression of utter sufferance further pinching his already thin features. With a stalk like a be-suited jaguar he crossed the mauve carpet. Plucking a pen from the breast pocket of his silk dress shirt, he ruffled through the papers on his desk. When the right document was in his hand, he signed it with a flourish. Murmuring appreciatively to himself, the lawyer spun on his polished heel and strode toward the door.

It was at that moment Sam knocked over the wastepaper basket.

'Hello?' Mackay was peering around the dimly lit room in a second, narrowed eyes searching.

Jammed between a tall filing cabinet and a leafy office plant, Sam held his breath. He shot a glare toward the prone metal cylinder by his ankle. Scrunched up balls of paper, toothpicks of various lengths and an empty packet of cigarettes had spilled every which way across the floor. A neon sign probably would have been less conspicuous.

Warily, Mackay moved nearer to the far corner of his office - right toward Sam's hiding place. 'Hello?' he repeated. 'No one's supposed to be in here. Give yourself up now and I might not have you fired for snooping.'

Sam swallowed. There was only one way out of this. Coughing sheepishly, he stepped over the bin and into the light. Dust motes danced across the window ledge at his elbow, skittering like gold dust over the crumbling shell of a long-dead bluebottle. Sam cast it a glance before meeting the steely gaze of the man whose office he had broken into.

'The uh, the cleaner must have forgotten to lock up,' he tried, mentally apologizing to whoever was going to take the blame if this ruse worked.

Mackay raised an eyebrow, swept his free hand around to indicate the room. 'And did you find what you were looking for?'

Sam's heart stuttered. Did he _know_? 'Well, I – I mean…'

'You bloody juniors need to understand something!' Mackay spat, storming forward. Cold grey eyes glinted with fury as he glared up at Sam's uncomfortable expression. 'Just because I was relocated to this rat-infested backwater does not mean I fail to abide by city rules. This is _my_ office and it is _private_. I don't care if you were only looking for a _spare pen_ – I will not catch you in here again, yes?'

'S – sorry, sir.' Sam lowered his head as if ashamed. 'I'll leave now.' He hurried past the lawyer toward the door. There would be another chance – albeit a short one – when Mackay left.

'Hold on a moment, boy.'

Mackay's suddenly silky tone sent a shiver down Sam's spine. His hand went to the handle of his knife, hidden beneath his coat.

'Where did you study?'

Sam was so surprised he blurted out the truth. 'Stanford.'

'_Stanford_? And you end up in a town like this? Hmm, it seems my own talents aren't the only ones to go sadly unnoticed.' Mackay clicked his tongue against his the roof of his mouth. 'Let's give you a pop quiz, shall we. Can you tell me what inchoate crimes are? I should hope so, considering the glowing source of your education, but there's nothing like a refresher. And who knows, you could redeem yourself after sneaking into my office.'

It had been about nine years since Samuel Winchester had last set foot in Stanford University. Desperately trying to ignore crippling memories of Jess, he scraped his brain. And there, beneath cleansing rituals, demon exorcisms and shielding charms was a little part of his long term memory where Sam the Lawyer still existed.

'There are three main types of inchoate crimes, sir,' Sam responded smoothly, turning back to face Mackay. 'Are you asking about attempt, conspiracy or solicitation?'

Mackay clapped his hands, a genuine smile curling his thin lips. 'Ah, delightful! Most fall into that trap, but you have impressed me, young man.'

Sam's cell buzzed in his coat. 'Excuse me,' he murmured, 'I've been expecting this call.' Half grateful for the excuse to leave and half anxious that Dean was in trouble, Sam pushed backward into the hallway.

'Unfortunately, I think you'll miss it,' the lawyer drawled.

Sam felt his feet leave the ground. He was flung through the air, back into the office and over the desk. Crashing into a tall bookcase heavy with enormous tomes, Sam grunted in pain. He crumpled to the carpet, books thumping down around him.

A shadow blocked out the fluorescent light from the ceiling lamp. Mackay leaned against the edge of his desk, the very side where the secret compartment contained exactly what Sam had been searching for. The lawyer patted the mahogany fondly and listened to Sam's vain efforts to rise.

'I knew it as soon as you walked in here, boy,' he said quietly. 'You were never going to get your hands on those photographs. You and your hunter companion only got this far because it amused me.' A malicious sneer oozed over Mackay's pale face. 'And, by the by, I should think that by now you will have an opening for a new team member.'

Sam thought of Dean, waiting alone at the bar for a group of witches who already knew he was there. Determination blazed through his veins. He snatched the knife still tucked into his coat.

Glinting even in the dull light, the weapon sped straight for Mackay's forehead. The lawyer didn't even glance up when the blade slammed against an invisible wall. As it dropped to the floor, Mackay sighed and nonchalantly flicked a hand.

Sam found himself not only weaponless but pinned flat to the carpet. He opened his mouth to hurl an insult … no sound came out.

McKay smiled lazily. 'If I wasn't going to kill you, I'd offer you a lesson in how to correctly trick a coven. Although,' he mused, reaching to pull something from a stylish pen holder, 'I am quite impressed at your knowledge of the Justice system. So you can at least be proud of that.' Mackay stepped forward until he was looming over Sam's pinioned body. The witch chuckled darkly, rolling a silver letter opener in his hand. 'Well, until I jam this in your throat.'


	3. Chapter 3

Clinging black dress hemmed with lace, fingerless gloves, wide-brimmed hat. The woman seemed completely out of place against the backdrop of the busy bar. Several glances were cast in her direction - of surprise or male interest, Dean couldn't quite decide. From the corner of his eye he watched her weave fluidly between crowded tables.

Two men who had been smoking near a front window turned to follow. Dean's fingers brushed against the cold metal of his pistol.

'That's Lauren Winter. She's never been to Sal's before.'

Dean glanced at the girl still seated in his booth. 'She a local?'

The girl nodded, blue hair catching the dim light. 'For about two years. Her family used to run this town. Fact, Lauren's nearly back to legally owning it _all_.'

'Loaded, then?' Dean's attention snapped around at the distinct sound of creaking hinges. A frown furrowed his forehead; the woman and two men vanished behind a red sport's banner hanging from the far wall.

Apparently oblivious, the girl chattered on. As she spoke, she slid her hands across the table, eyes on Dean's still half-full beer. 'Money certainly ain't a problem for her,' she agreed. 'An' she lives in the manor house. Ain't her family home, mind you. Mulberry Estate was torn down just a few weeks before she came back to town.'

Dean raised an eyebrow. 'She give any reason for comin' back?'

'Not that I know of.' The girl shrugged a shoulder, carefully wrapping her fingers around the beer bottle. Her violet gaze flicked up to make sure Dean's attention was still across the room. Quietly, she dragged the drink toward herself. 'If she's not makin' deals for land or houses, Lauren keeps to herself.'

Casually moving one hand from his thigh to his back, Dean surreptitiously tucked his gun in the waistband of his jeans. He glanced at the girl to make sure she hadn't seen anything … and then did a double-take.

'Maybe you should tell me what people've been sayin',' he suggested, 'Instead of stealin' my damn drink!' Reaching over, he snatched the bottle from her. Placing it emphatically down on the table, he added, 'And don't leave anythin' out. It could be important.'

Her head titled to one side again. 'Important?' she echoed. 'You said that before.'

'Yeah, 'coz it's _important_.' Dean's expression was pointed.

She raised her hands in exaggerated defeat. The girl leaned in, voice dropping as if she were relating the tale around a campfire. 'There's this story that goes way back in Ashland's history.' She paused for effect. Dean cleared his throat. With a sheepish wince she continued. 'Folks say that three generations of Winters ago, somethin' terrible happened in the mansion, the one that used to back onto the town cemetery. For days there was screamin' and shoutin' coming from the attic but no one was brave enough to go inside. Not even the law.

'When the noises finally stopped, only three members of the family were left. Six people were killed in that big old house – three of them Winters. The rest was only the help. Not much was done about it in the end, since the surviving Winters refused to explain, and the law was content to ignore that it'd ever happened. Don't think they shoulda done that, but those were different days, I guess.

'It was erased from the papers, from any kind of record. Over time it turned into legend, kept alive only by Ashland's oldest residents. Now the story's just a story. I don't think anyone 'round here really believes it actually happened. Either way, there's whispers that maybe Lauren didn't have a say in the demolishin' of the estate, that she's pretty pissed about it and that's why she came back…'

Dean studied her face. 'But you don't think that's it?'

'Well, I heard somethin' from my Grandmummy – before she died. She said, real serious too, that there was some kind of old box. That it held the key to what really happened up at Mulberry that night all those years ago.' The girl folded her arms across the tabletop, looking at her ragged fingernails.

Dean noted her sudden nerves but didn't comment. He didn't want to spook her. Irritating as she was, she was proving to be a good source of information.

'So, Lauren's looking for this box?' he pondered aloud. 'This key?' The jigsaw pieces started coming together in his head. 'Did Mackay have anything to do with the house being flattened? Or Lauren snappin' up land?'

'The lawyer?' The girl made a face of disgust. 'He had a lot to do with both. Talk is, he was the one who gave permission for the bulldozing in the first place. And then he tried to patch up his mistake with Lauren by helpin' her talk people into sellin' their land and homes.'

Dean reached for his cell, mind whirling. 'And did he force Mary Harrison out of her place? They got rid o' her house not long after, right?'

'That's right. They built a heap of two-storey apartments. Jane Hanley, the librarian, she bought one. Before that freak accident.' She gave him a funny look. 'Wait, who are you, anyway?'

'Doesn't matter.' Dean swiped his cell's screen, hitting the button for Sam's number. 'Just, stay here, alright kid? This could go sideways.'

'What could go –' She broke off, startled as the cell phone slipped from Dean's hand and clattered to the table. 'Hey, you okay? Dean?'

He slumped forward, forearm knocking the beer bottle away to smash loudly onto the floor. A muted groan issued from his slack mouth. The girl slid out of her seat, grabbed him by the shoulder and shook him hard. Heart pounding in her chest, she shoved his limp form back against the booth. Relieved to see he was at least still breathing she turned to call for Sal.

'Don't worry, honey, we'll take it from here.'

The girl stared up into the plum-coloured smile of Lauren Winter. Terrified, she backed up against Dean's warmth. 'Leave him alone,' she ordered, but the words were shaky with fear.

'Wilson, take sweetness here for a ride, too.' Lauren plucked Dean's cell from the table and strode away.

The thinner of the two men who had appeared behind her drew his jacket open. The girl swallowed. In the electrical light the muzzle of a gun glinted. When he jutted his chin toward the bar's exit, the girl had little choice but to follow his silent orders. She glanced behind to see the second man roughly grab Dean by his shirt.

Frantic, her eyes swivelled to the barkeep. When his gaze slithered back to the glass in his hands, she saw the bank notes in his breast pocket. Cold fear trickled down her spine. What the hell had she gotten herself into?


	4. Chapter 4

Sam gritted his teeth, staring resolutely up at the deadly tip of the letter opener. Above it, Mackay's leering grin hovered triumphantly. 'Farewell, Sam Winchester. Forgive me, but I do hope we never meet again.'

'You won't in this life.'

A familiar husky voice accompanied the wet, sucking sound of rupturing flesh. An angel blade suddenly protruded from the witch's chest, the three-cornered weapon soaked in crimson. It was yanked free from behind. Mackay's body collapsed unceremoniously to the floor.

Sam felt the spell release him. 'Cas?'

'Hello, Sam.' The trench-coated angel extended an open hand.

Grasping his friend's wrist, Sam levered himself to his feet. 'What are you doing here?'

Cas gave a wry smile. 'Apparently, saving your life.'

'Yeah, thanks.' Sam scratched the back of his neck. 'Thanks for that.'

Cas' expression turned serious, bright blue eyes growing earnest. 'Where is Dean?'

'He – uh, he went to this bar. We were planning on stopping a witch from killing innocent people. I was supposed to find some papers, some records of what –' Sam gestured to the corpse bleeding out onto the carpet. 'That guy was mixed up in. He's – _was_ – a lawyer. We got word there were, uh, _compromising_ photos in here that could help us shut him down.'

'I thought you and Dean were taking some time off. You told me you were going to relax for a while.' Cas turned toward the door. 'What are you doing in this town? And taking a job?'

Sam shrugged, guilt prickling under his skin. 'Dean said it would help him … you know … get better. There wasn't meant to be a whole_coven_.'

Mackay's words about tricks and needing a new teammate flooded back into Sam's brain. Ignoring his friend's question about the blackmail photos, he bent to pick up his knife. 'Cas,' he began quickly, 'The witch said the others knew Dean and I were here. He might be in trouble.'

Cas frowned, motioned to the hallway. 'We will discuss your respite later. Where is the bar located?'

'Couple blocks down.' Sam hurried to catch up to the angel's quick strides. 'I've got the car.'

'Good. Let's go.' Cas let Sam take the lead and followed in his wake. They passed dark offices and a quietly humming printer. Castiel slipped his angel blade back into the loose sleeve of his trench-coat as they pushed through the glass double doors. After jogging down the steps, Sam unlocked the Impala and slid into the driver's seat.

Cas appeared beside him.

'Was it so hard to just open the door?' Sam questioned, eyebrow raised. He started the engine. The Impala purred out onto the street, headlights lighting the sidewalks and blacktop.

'This is faster.' As ever, sarcasm went over Cas' head. The angel pointed to red and purple lights blinking rhythmically up ahead. 'Is that it?'

'Yeah. Hold on.' Sam gunned the engine, overtaking an SUV doing the speed limit. The driver glared at him, shaking a fist as they roared past.

Castiel glanced at Sam. 'Why is that man so angry?'

'I'm doing ninety in a fifty zone,' Sam responded tightly, more anxiety than relief rushing through his veins as Sal's came nearer.

Cas looked back over his shoulder at the brown car but didn't say anything. He slammed his hands against the dash to halt his momentum when the black Chevy jolted to a stop.

'Sorry,' Sam muttered. He shoved out into the street and was at the bar's door before Castiel was even on the sidewalk.

The angel strode into the chaos of men yelling abuse at the television set, hooting women and drunk teenagers. He crinkled his nose at the smells of alcohol and stale urine. He would never understand why Dean – or any human for that matter – seemed to enjoy frequenting these places. After all, one could get drunk on their own premises.

Reaching Sam's side, Cas looked around. 'I don't see him.'

Sam spotted the barkeep and nudged his way through some overly loud patrons. Cas was at his heels as he reached the glossed bench.

'Hey, man, can you help me? I'm after someone. My brother.'

The barkeep glanced up. 'What's he look like?'

'Short, spiked hair, like a porcupine,' Cas replied immediately, 'I've been informed the colour is described as "dirty blonde". He has a preference for leather jackets and old jeans. Often flirtatious. Sometimes rather insensitive.' Misreading the barkeep's raised eyebrows, the angel added gravely, 'But a good man.'

'Uh-huh…' The man behind the bar nodded slowly. He took a step back as though worried Cas might be crazy.

Sam's mouth twisted. Kneeing Cas out the way, he smiled in a friendly, albeit taut, manner. 'He would have called himself Dean. Might have been with a girl about twenty three? She looked a little younger, maybe?'

'Abby talked with a guy for a while, yeah.' Wiping his hands on his apron, the barkeep refused to meet Sam's gaze.

'Sam,' Cas whispered close to his ear, 'That man has a roll of hundred dollar bills in the pocket of his shirt. I'm certain that's unusual.'

Peeking out from the man's grimy tee was definitely the green-rendered face of Benjamin Franklin.

Sam frowned meaningfully, all trace of pretence gone. 'That's quite a bit of cash there. I didn't think tips'd be that great – small town like this, and all.'

Self-consciously, the man tried to stuff the notes deeper into the pocket.

Sam revealed the pearl-inset pistol beneath his jacket. 'I don't want to hurt you, but I will if you don't start talking.' There was a sharp click as he flicked the safety off. 'Where's Dean? Where's my brother!'

The barkeep took one look at the gun, at Sam's face, and caved. Words started tumbling from his mouth as if the information was a prayer. 'Look, some guy came in yesterday, gave me six hundred bucks to keep my mouth shut. Said Lauren Winters would give me ownership of the bar, make Sal work for_me_, if I just did as I was told.'

'And you thought –' Cas squinted at the name embroidered on the man's shirt. '"_Buster's_ bar" sounded better"?'

The barkeep laughed sheepishly. 'Yeah, well, s'got a nice ring to it…'

Sam slammed his hand down on the bar. 'What happened here! Was anybody injured?'

Buster jumped, shook his head wildly. 'Nah! No. The guy said they weren't gonna hurt anybody, just wanted to talk to the dude your friend described. Your brother. Man, I didn't realize they were gonna ...'

'Did they tell you where they were taking him?' Sam felt his breath hitch in his throat. This gig had been as good of an idea as the one before last, when they'd run into Kate. And this hunt might have just cost Dean his _life_.

'No.' Buster licked his lips, eyes flickering nervously at his scattered patrons. Convinced no one was listening, he murmured under his breath, 'Heard 'em talking, though. Somethin' about Mulberry Estate.'

'But there's nothing there anymore. Just an empty field since the house was demolished.'

Buster shrugged insistently. 'I dunno. That's all I know.' He raised his hands. 'Please, just leave me alone, man!'

Sam turned away from the bar and hurried for the door.

Cas cast a dangerous look at the barkeep. 'If I ever find that this bar is named "Buster's", I will personally see to your punishment.'

The man stared after the angel, clutching his apron. He audibly gulped when the beige trench coat had vanished into the street.


	5. Chapter 5

Consciousness burst back in with all the intensity of an exploding light bulb. Dean jerked involuntarily, sucked in a deep breath. It felt as if he had been swimming underwater for far too long. Stretched above his head, his arms were numb. Grimacing, he groaned. '… The hell?'

'Not quite, darling.' A woman's low, seductive voice emanated from just beyond his peripheral vision. 'Though I expect that's where you'll go when this is done.'

Dean blinked hard. His surroundings slowly morphed from dark blobs to a sparsely decorated, window-less room. The floor beneath his shoes was uneven grey stone, the walls much the same. Flickering orange light came from candles dotted about the closed-in space.

He dangled by his wrists from a chain attached to the ceiling, just able to touch the ground on his tiptoes. It was a small wonder he couldn't feel anything above his shoulders. Movement caught the corner of his eye. The woman from the bar, still wearing her black dress and gloves, but without the hat and any kind of footwear, sidled into view.

'Good morning. I hope you had pleasant dreams.' Her smile reminded Dean of a snake eyeing a mouse.

'Oh, they were terrific,' he shot back. 'Best sleep I ever had.'

Dark brown eyes glinted in the dancing light, not a trace of compassion in their depths. 'Vervain, chamomile, lavender,' she purred. 'Old family recipe.'

'I know what you are.' Dean tried in vain to twitch his fingers. 'You ain't human.'

One perfect black eyebrow quirked. She wet her plum lips, widened her smile. 'Oh? And what exactly am I, then?'

'You're a witch.' He matched her scorching stare. 'Run into your kind before. Sweetheart, I've _killed _your kind before.'

'Add that to your list of "things not to tell a witch half in the mood to kill you".' Lauren stepped forward on her bare feet until she was almost face-to-face with him. At only two heads shorter than Dean, she didn't have to exert herself to reach for his chin. Curling her cold fingers against his jaw, her smile faded.

'I know what _you_ are. You're a hunter, come to end my life.'

'You're not wrong,' Dean growled, trying to wrench from her grip.

Lauren's beautiful pale features twisted in fury. 'But you _are_ wrong. So _very_ wrong.' She slid her index finger under his chin, digging in her nail. 'Is this what you do?' she spat, 'Gallivant across the country, slitting throats and asking questions later?' Her fingernail dug deeper, forcing his head back. 'I was not your enemy, you rash halfwit. And now you have ruined everything!'

Dean winced as his blood welled beneath her nail. 'You murdered that nice old lady and the chick from the library. Been kickin' folks out of their homes and buyin' up their land. Why would we _not _stop you, bitch?'

'How _dare _you!' The flat of her palm connected with Dean's cheek. His head jerked sideways, eyes watering. Lauren whirled away from him and called down an echoing tunnel: 'Bring the little skank!'

It took a moment for Dean to gather himself and connect the dots. 'Blue-hair girl,' he murmured, his heart sinking.

**/**

Wrought iron gates hung loosely on rusted hinges. Ivy grew thick over high, crumbling stone walls. Its deep rumble echoing in the foggy morning stillness, a black Chevy cruised into the grounds of the Mulberry Estate.

Where a three storey mansion had stood for at least two hundred years, nothing but rubble and mud now lay. A crumbling fountain emptied of water marked the remnants of the driveway. Sam followed the dirt track and pulled up where the mansion's entrance had once stood.

The Impala's passenger door squealed as Cas opened it and clambered out. Sam switched off the engine and unfolded himself from the driver's seat. He glanced at the angel across the car's gleaming black roof.

'There's nothing here,' Cas pointed out, 'Like you said in the bar.'

Sam ran his fingers through his hair. 'Well, have to start somewhere. And this is the only lead we've got.'

Wordlessly splitting up, they each began searching through the old house's remains. Sam took the western-most wing, stepping lightly through heaped grey stones, wooden beams and churned up mud. A bulldozer had completely levelled what looked to have been about three storeys, taking history with it. A sadness settled over him, curling up alongside the fear in his stomach.

'Sam!' Cas beckoned from the eastern-wing's forlorn skeleton. 'There's something here.'

Sliding over a thick beam, Sam jogged over.

'What?' he panted, stopping beside the angel.

'There. Do you see it?' Cas gestured to a heaped pile of rubble. Stepping closer, he tapped one of the larger stones that lay close to the top. 'That symbol. I've seen it before.'

Sam crouched to get a closer look. Engraved carefully in the mortar and stone were three creatures' heads each facing the same direction. One was carved just above the others, its jaws open and a tongue curling out. He frowned, information whirring through his brain. His fingers traced the thin lines.

'This is a medieval lion,' he realised aloud, 'Used in 12th century heraldry.' Sam glanced over his shoulder up at Cas in surprise. 'Is this – is this a family crest? A coat of arms?'

Castiel nodded, his expression so grave Sam felt a little nervous.

'Yes,' the angel nodded, '… And one I had thought to never see again.' There was a short moment of silence before Cas locked gazes with Sam. Trepidation flitted through his normally passive gaze, his piercing blue eyes earnest.

'Sam, Dean is in great danger.'


	6. Chapter 6

Sam rose to his feet, hands curling into fists. His face was ashen. 'Cas, what does that symbol mean? What does it have to do with Dean?'

Cas slightly shook his head. 'There's no time for explanation. Just know that what we're walking into won't be easy to stop.'

Sam barked a sharp, incredulous laugh. '"What we're walking into"? C'mon, man, you gotta give me more than that!'

'Do you want to save Dean?' Cas slid past the hunter. 'Because if we're going to, we don't have time for this, Sam.'

Sam was opening his mouth to reply when Cas placed his hand flat across the markings. There was an eruption of brilliant, angelic light that consumed everything. It filled Sam's ears with a sound that reminded him of rushing water. He could have sworn he felt wind tug at his clothing and ruffle his hair. He blinked.

Cas was already at the end of the tight stone passageway, fingers sweeping across a dead end wall. Sam spun in a circle on his heels, instinctively reaching for the pistol in his jacket.

'… The hell? Cas, where are we?'

'I believe we're beneath the mansion.' As ever, the angel seemed completely unfazed despite the extraordinary circumstances. He peered at Sam through the dimness. 'Help me find the door.'

'The door?' Sam echoed helplessly.

'This passage has to lead somewhere. There must be a door.'

Sam's mouth twitched. He joined the angel at the dead-end and listened. His head slightly tilted, the hunter tuned out the sounds of Cas's palms sliding over stone. A faint whistling caught his attention. It was the unmistakable sound of air forcing itself through a small gap.

Reaching out, Sam worked his fingers into the mortar at chest-height. The stone grated backward a centimetre at his touch. 'I've got it.'

With a shove, he forced the rock further back. Like an enormous button, the stone remained deeper than its brethren. A metallic click echoed around them, and then the dead-end wall was rising as a whole into the ceiling.

Sam and Cas peered out at what lay beyond.

**/**

The girl's violet eyes stared frantically at Dean as she was dragged into the room. A good chunk of vivid blue hair was grasped in the meaty fist of the big guy from the bar. The absolute terror on her narrow face made guilt and anger rush through Dean's veins.

Lauren ran a finger along the dry tear marks on the girl's cheek. 'Poor little Abigail. I warned you not to stick your nose where it doesn't belong.'

Abigail whimpered, her arms wrapped tightly around herself. 'Please…' she whispered, 'Please let us go.'

'Oh, how sweet,' Lauren mocked, gaze flicking to Dean, 'She wants to save you as well.'

'Get away from her.' Dean strained against his chains, setting them clinking. It was his fault Abigail was here, facing this danger, and he wasn't about to just sit back and watch them hurt her.

Lauren ignored him. 'Do you know who he is?' she asked the girl softly. 'Have you any idea how much blood is on his hands?'

Abigail swallowed. She shook her head, wide eyes flickering anxiously to Dean.

'Let me show you.' Lauren's bare feet padded across the floor until she was standing in front of the hunter. He glared at her. Lauren smiled, an eyebrow raised suggestively. She curled her fingers into the fabric of his jacket.

Dean grimaced, full lips shuddering in disgust. Lauren's laugh was musical. She slowly ran her hand up his arm and along a shoulder. With a sharp tug, she yanked down his sleeve. Red and raised, the oldest symbol ever witnessed by humanity was revealed.

Stepping back, Lauren spoke to Abigail without taking her eyes from Dean's expression of loathing. 'That, my darling, is the infamous Mark of Cain. You, with all your yearnings of goodness, have sided with murder and kin-slaying.'

Abigail's gasp echoed through the room. 'No,' she whispered, fresh tears welling at the corners of her eyes. 'No! God, I didn't know!'

'Abigail!' Dean stared past Lauren at the blue-haired girl, willing her to understand. 'This isn't what it looks like. I'm gonna get you outta here, away from these freaks!'

Lauren smiled and placed a hand on Dean's chest. She met the hunter's withering glare with ice.

'This man,' she told Abigail, again as if Dean hadn't even spoken, 'Was the one who _started _the Apocalypse. He caused an Angel of God to court rebellion. There are innocents he has destroyed.' Dean's ferocity wavered like the candle flames lighting his face. Lauren's smile widened. 'Abigail,' she said softly, 'this man even called his own brother "monster". Does that sound like a _hero_ to you?'

Abigail's face was darker than storm clouds. Her chin rose, her violet eyes flashed. She wrenched free from her captor's grasp. He let her go. Abigail strode to the centre of the room and curled her hands into fists.

'I've met men like you before,' she hissed at Dean, her face flushing with anger. 'All they care about is killing.'

'Wait!' Dean shouted. If he could just explain himself - how the Mark had been needed in the plan to stop Metatron, how Crowley (the Goddamn son of a bitch) had tricked him. 'There're things you -'

Lauren shoved him hard.

Boots skiting on stone, Dean tried to keep his toes on the ground. Chains clinking, he swung backward, his entire bodyweight suddenly suspended from his wrists. A hoarse grunt accompanied the sharp pain flooding his arms. When he jerked to a stop with his feet still inches above the stone, his head lurched up in horror.

The hand Lauren had used to push Dean remained raised. The air was rippling around her fingers, almost shimmering. Watching the agony play across Dean's face, her plum lips curled in satisfaction.

'You may have faced witches before, Dean Winchester… but not like me.'

'Go to Hell!' he grunted, barely able to get the words out through the pain. He did not like the look that slithered over Lauren's pale face.

The woman turned to Abigail. 'Why don't you remind him exactly what that's like?'

For a heartbeat, the girl hesitated. Then she smirked. Lauren lowered her hand and stood aside. Released from the spell, Dean swung forward. His toes hit the ground and steadied him. Chest heaving, he stared at the stranger he had met at the bar.

She advanced on him, all fire and vixen and luminescent blue. The playful, flirtatious barely-more-than-child that had slipped into the booth at Sal's was gone. Despite physical appearances, Abigail seemed to be years older. Her strange eyes radiated rage.

'Men like you slaughtered my family. They kept their heads as trophies.'

'I'm sorry,' Dean told her, 'I really am. But I'm nothin' like those crazy sons of bitches.'

'I'm sorry too, Dean.' She looked up at him and for a moment he was convinced she was about to turn on Lauren. But then foreboding filled him as she whispered, 'Because I don't believe you.'

Dean struggled against his chains. 'Abby, I'm not the bad guy here. I'm not –' His words were turned into a wordless scream as Abigail's fingers pressed into his stomach.

After a moment she withdrew. Dean hung limply from the chains, panting hard. He stared at her in terrible disbelief. 'Abby…' he rasped, 'What – How?'

'My name is _Abigail_,' she spat. Blue hair framed an expression of pure hatred. 'And I'm dredging up your memories of Hell, you murdering bastard.'

She pushed both hands firmly against his chest. Green eyes wide and unseeing, body trembling violently, Dean's hoarse cries were born of fear and torment.


	7. Chapter 7

**_REWRITTEN 9TH DECEMBER 2014_**

* * *

><p>'SAMMY!'<p>

Following Cas down another tight stone passageway, Sam stopped cold. His brother's cry rattled from the walls to slap him in the face. Instantly, Sam's pistol was in-hand and he was shoving past Cas.

'Sam, wait!' Cas called, but Sam was already past listening to reason.

Over the years, fighting side-by-side with his older brother, Sam had heard Dean's pain verbalized more than enough for several lifetimes. But the scream that had just filled his ears was more horrible than anything he had ever been witness to. Sam had never completely understood what Dean had been through in Hell. He didn't realise that what he had just heard was the same cry Dean had uttered for thirty long years in the Pit.

Careering around a sharp corner, Sam thudded into something solid. They both went over in a tangled heap. Sam was on his knees first, straddling his assailant. He pointed his gun at the figure's head. His hazel eyes widened when they found themselves glaring into piercing blue ones.

'Sam,' Cas grunted, 'Please get off of me.'

'Crap. Sorry, Cas.' Sam got to his feet, clasping his friend's forearm.

The angel brushed dust from his beige trench coat. 'This could be a trap,' Cas warned gravely.

'Did you hear him?' Sam demanded. 'Dean's -'

Cas bristled, his gaze snapping up to bore into Sam's. 'If we're all going to live through this, we need a plan.'

'If we're...?' Sam stared at the angel. 'Cas, what the hell is going on here?'

Cas gestured down the passage. 'Let's just get Dean out of here.'

Although not satisfied in the least, Sam nodded. There was nothing more important than saving his brother. In single file, with Cas back in the lead, they walked cautiously toward the end of the stone tunnel. Wavering orange light came into view as they got close. Sam and Cas traded glances.

'No!' Another heart-wrenching shout sounded in their ears. Its origin, Dean in agony, was much nearer than before.

Sam gritted his teeth. 'He's gotta be through here.'

Castiel's angel blade slipped from his sleeve to his hand. 'We'll have to be fast.'

'At least we've got surprise.' Sam clicked the safety off on his pistol. 'Can we kill them?'

'The woman? No. The other witches, yes.'

'The woman?' Sam looked sideways at Cas.

'Yes, the woman. She will be the most powerful in the room.'

'And _she's _the one we _can't_ gank?'

'Your bullets won't kill her,' Cas agreed. 'There must be something that can. We don't have it.'

'Yet.' Sam raised his pistol. The orange glow danced over his face, casting parts in shadow. He tensed, readying for a fight. Then a thought chilled him to his bones. 'Not even your _angel blade_'ll work?'

Cas frowned. 'I don't know. I doubt I will get close enough to try.'

A wordless scream, primal and distraught, cut through any more conversation. Sam's jaw twinged. Pain flickered in Cas' eyes.

'Let's get these sons of bitches,' Sam snarled.

Together the hunter and the angel burst from their tunnel. They stepped into a small chamber that contained several shadowy figures. A choked sob snatched both their attention; what Sam and Cas saw was so terrible that both of them forget themselves.

Dean dangled from the roof by chains, bright blood trickling from his mouth. His head was tilted back, mouth open in agony. Every visible muscle strained. Tears cascaded down his paled face, soaked the collar of his shirt. And a girl with vivid blue hair had her hands flat to his chest.

'Hey!' Sam yelled, fury boiling just beneath his skin. 'Get away from my brother!'

The girl shot him a glance, her eyes narrowing. Her attention returned to Dean's slack form. Sam took a step toward her, raising his gun. At the same time, heavy footsteps echoed across the stone floor. Sam spun. A huge fist connected with his jaw, sending him backward onto his arse.

A huge man loomed above him, reaching down to land another blow. At the last second, Sam rolled clear. The man's fist slammed sickeningly into the floor, making him howl. Sam cocked his pistol and aimed.

Cas vanished, reappeared behind the girl. Firelight rippled along the tri-cornered edge as he raised his angel blade. A hair's-breadth from ramming it through the girl's chest, Cas was caught up in a gust of air. His body slammed against the far wall, crunching against hard stone. The angel found himself pinioned, just as Sam had been by Mackay.

A slender, pale woman stepped into sight. Her dark hair flowed to her shoulders, several strands floating in a breeze that did not exist. Plum lips curled into a self-satisfied grin. 'I was wondering when the Calvary would arrive. And it turns out to be angels and demonic blood. You must forgive me if I laugh.'

'Stop this,' Cas grunted, but the order sounded weak even to his own ears.

'It already began,' Lauren Winter sneered, 'Three generations ago in this pathetic little American town. I have been here for longer than you think.'

The gunshot cracked through the room. Lauren's body jerked. For a moment nothing happened. And then Lauren turned leisurely on her heels. Sam Winchester's gun was aimed at her chest from the opposite side of the room. He stood evenly, a body at his feet. His hooded glare was a challenge.

Lauren's forehead crinkled. The woman raised a hand to her chest, fingered the red liquid blossoming over her black dress. As if mildly curious, Lauren studied her hand. Then she drew a soaked finger to her mouth … and licked her own blood from her skin.

Sam's disgust was plain. He fired again. Dean's words echoed in his head: _If it bleeds, then you can kill it_. Maybe whoever this was, it wasn't who Cas had suspected.

Lauren was forced back a step, the second bullet lodging in her ribcage. She glanced down at the entry hole then slowly up at Sam. He swallowed at the look in her eyes. With quick, purposeful footsteps, she came after him.

From where he was still trapped, Cas noticed the blue-hair girl was peering up at him. Her hands hadn't moved from Dean; the hunter's torture hadn't stopped. Chains rattling, Dean's body jolted uncontrollably. He began to gasp. It sounded like there were hands around his throat.

Watching his best friend in so much agony caused Castiel physical pain. The angel summoned his grace. It rushed through his veins, filling him with heat. For a moment his eyes sparked cerulean. With great effort Cas tore his head free of the spell.

The girl stared.

'Please,' he implored hoarsely, 'Let my friend go.'

'He's a monster,' the girl spat, her words quivering with anger. 'He deserves it.'

'No,' Cas grunted. He was struggling to hold back the spell. 'Dean is a good man.' Memories of the man now in horrific pain before him poured through Cas' thoughts: green eyes, warm smile, an embrace reserved only for those Dean Winchester loved; Dean battling against both Heaven and Hell to save innocents; Dean saving Cas' life, Sam's. Castiel had found a brother here on Earth; a kind that he had never found during all his millennia in Heaven.

He was trying to find the words to explain when he saw the girl was crying. His eyebrows drew together in confusion. Suddenly he was falling. Hitting the hard ground feet-first, he managed to tumble onto his back without injury. When he sat up, it was to Dean slumped not two feet away, the chains above the hunter swaying loose.

The girl with the blue hair kneeled beside Dean, supporting him with her slender form. She met Castiel's questioning gaze.

'I could see your thoughts,' she told the angel, 'All your memories of Dean. I don't know why he's got the Mark of Cain, but I can see I've made a big mistake.'

'Abby?' Dean's voice was even coarser than usual. He coughed, spat the blood from his mouth.

'Dean, what do you see?' Abby asked gently.

'Uh…' Blearily, barely able to lift his head, Dean looked up. 'Cas?'

'Dean.' Cas carefully pushed himself to his feet. 'Sam and I are here to get you.'

'Where is Sammy? S'he okay?'

Cas stared around the chamber. Shock trickled down his back as cold sweat. The tall hunter and the witch had vanished. 'I don't know.'


	8. Chapter 8

Hell roared and screamed around him, sucking him deeper and deeper into the Pit. Dean heard his own voice crying out, felt the burning agony in his arms and shoulders. He clawed at whatever was dragging him across the black dirt; his hands met nothing but heavy, boiling air. Some part of him knew these were only memories, that in reality he was still hanging from chains in an underground room.

No part of him cared.

They were taking him to The Rack. They were taking him to be torn apart. Tears welled at the corner of pain-stricken green eyes. At the beginning he had been strong, able to walk to his agony. Now, his throat was so raw he couldn't even plead. Not that it would have changed his fate anyhow. Only one thing would save him from being unthreaded piece by piece. Only one word…

Dean sobbed, opened his mouth to scream what Azazel wanted to hear –

And was suddenly staring straight at an angel.

'Cas?' he rasped. The vision of his best friend, familiar trench coat and ruffled black hair, crouched not four steps away. Stone and dirt had replaced hellfire and molten lava. The metallic taste of blood in his mouth made Dean's jaw quiver. He spat out the bitterness made from biting his own bottom lip almost clean through.

'Dean. Sam and I are here to get you.' Cas rose to his feet, strong and _real_.

At the mention of his little brother, Dean felt his heart thud against his ribcage. The bitch that had bought him here and tricked Abigail was more than dangerous. He managed to mumble a question, desperately hoping he'd made sense.

Castiel's piercing blue gaze roved the chamber. Watching the angel's face, Dean felt his blood run cold.

'He's gone,' Cas said.

'We gotta find him.' Dean tried to struggle upright. His legs gave way almost at once.

Abigail put a hand to Dean's shoulder. She leaned in as she steadied him, blue hair tumbling over her shoulder. 'Rest,' Abigail told him quietly. 'The angel and I'll find Sam.'

'Hell no.' Dean dragged himself to his knees. He groaned but his determination didn't waver. 'I gotta –'

Castiel reached down and touched two fingers to Dean's forehead. The hunter slumped to the cold floor, his eyes closing. Cas stepped back and looked to Abigail. 'We don't have time for this.'

Although surprise flickered across her face, Abigail nodded and rose. 'Can you tell which way they went?'

'There are two ways from here. Would they have gone to the surface?'

Abigail bit her lip. 'No,' she said after a moment. 'Lauren's lookin' for something down here. A box.'

'Lauren?' Cas strode toward the tunnel he and Sam hadn't followed to get to the chamber, the one to their left.

Abigail hurried after him. 'Lauren Winter. At least, that's what everyone calls her.' The girl swallowed. 'I didn't realise she was like us.'

Cas glanced at her. 'How could you see my thoughts? What exactly _are_ you?'

'If we get out of here alive, I'll explain everything,' Abigail promised.

They entered the tunnel. Torches flickered along the walls in rusted metal brackets. After a short distance, the stone walls turned to old-fashioned brick. They came to a set of stairs that led upward. At the end, a heavy wooden door stood open. Fresh blood was smeared upon the bronzed handle.

Cas grasped the girl's shoulder. The next thing Abigail knew, her blue hair was fluttering around her face and she was standing at the top of the staircase. Her jaw dropped slightly. Shaking her feelings of nausea away, she followed the angel into the adjoining room.

Wine barrels, kegs and empty shelves greeted them. Cas motioned for Abigail to stay silent. She gave a short nod and stepped lightly to his side. They crossed the cramped, dusty space, each peering cautiously around. Although nothing moved between the dappled shadows, they both shared a sense of unease.

It was a well-deserved anxiety.

Castiel saw the glint of the knife seconds before it was being jabbed at his chest. He grasped the forearm of his attacker and twisted. The man went tumbling into a shelf. Cas stormed after him, flicking his angel blade into his hand.

'Wait!' Abigail shoved past him. Before Cas or their attacker could react, Abby was raising a hand. Cas was expecting some kind of unexpected power; what happened was extremely human. Abby's palm slammed into the underside of the man's nose. There was a sharp crack and a spurt of blood. The man wilted, dropped the knife. And then Abigail put her finger to his temple.

At once, the would-be killer's face turned blank. Curious, Cas tilted his head to one side. In all his years, Castiel had never seen anything like this. Although, he reflected, there were many recent events that even the eldest of angels would not be familiar with. _The Mark of Cain for example_, he thought solemnly.

When Abigail stepped back, the man was unsteady and rather confused. Abby gave Cas a nod. The angel plunged his blade into their attacker. Neither demon sizzle nor angel glow emanated from the body as it slumped to the ground.

'Private security. Human,' Abigail said, matter-of-factly.

Cas raised an eyebrow.

'I tapped into his memories. He's with Lauren, tryin' to help her - and there are others in the cellars. He saw Sam come through here. Lauren hot on his heels.' Abby jerked her chin toward the second door. The orange torches flickered. 'We'd better hurry.'

'Did he have any knowledge of where exactly Sam might be?'

Abigail shook her head and started for the door. 'No. If that's what you need to teleport us, close but no cigar.'

Millimetres from Abby's black leather boots, a streak of gold lightning charred the floor. Cas yanked her backward seconds before another, closer spark, followed. A woman emerged from three shelves back, hands raised. She was without doubt another witch. But this one Cas could kill.

The angel felt his Grace heat his human vessel. 'Find cover,' he ordered Abigail.

Then he had blinked and was standing right beside the woman. Despite her surprise, she turned out to be fast on her feet. The witch ducked Cas' blade and flexed her hand. Gold lightning crackled between her spread fingers.

Castiel's grace gleamed in his eyes. 'Stop now and I will let you live.'

'But my mistress won't.' The witch flicked her wrist.

Cas saw the lightning hiss through the air toward him. He raised his angel blade. The threads of hot light pinged from the silver steel and fizzled out. Each attack he blocked in the same manner until the witch began to back away. Cas had given her the ultimatum and she had made a choice; he couldn't allow her to live and follow Lauren Winter.

'Cas!'

Abigail's shout made Cas half-turn. The angel grasped the arm of his second sudden attacker and shifted his own body aside. The man's knife plunged into the stomach of the lightning-wielding witch, who had darted forward as Cas had turned. She shrieked and crumpled. Cas placed a palm to the man's forehead and summoned his grace.

Blinding light blasted forth from the man's eyes and open mouth, and rippled beneath his skin. In seconds his eyes were nothing but charred holes and all life had fled. Cas let the man fall. He zapped himself back to Abigail.

'Jesus!' she gasped, jumping.

'We need to find Sam quickly. If there are others down here, we can't risk them finding Dean.' Castiel led the way toward the next room.

Abby left her hiding place behind some stacked crates and hurried after him. 'What did you do to him, anyways?' she puffed.

'He's sleeping. He would not have allowed us to go without him. And he would have slowed us down.'

'Have you done it before?'

'I have made others sleep, yes.'

'I mean to Dean? You guys seem pretty close.'

'Can you not just see my memories?'

Abby shook her head. 'No. You're blocked from me.'

Cas glanced at her. 'That was the first time I've forced Dean to sleep. I doubt he will be pleased when he wakes up.'

'You did the right thing,' Abby promised gently. 'And sleep should help him recover. I –' She bit her lip and looked guiltily at her feet. 'I bought up memories from the darkest places in his head. He – He has a lot of those.'

'Dean is very hard on himself.' Cas placed a hand on the closed door. 'Both Winchesters have been through … difficult times.'

'And I only helped,' Abby said ruefully.

Cas paused. His blue eyes found Abby's violet ones. 'You were misled,' the angel told her gravely. He was glad the girl's power had no hold over him. Would she still agree to follow him if she knew some of the terrible things he had done? Most had been under the guise of the right thing – but each time he had only made everything worse.Poor Gadreel had died trying to redeem himself from even fouler mistakes.

'It doesn't change what I did,' Abigail contended. 'If we find Sam then maybe Dean won't hate me.'

'Dean will understand.' Cas shoved through the door, deciding not to mention why exactly Dean would forgive her for the torture.

Another cellar room, this one lit by old-fashioned lanterns, was filled with bits and bobs from various eras. A metal dollhouse stood on a carved teak bench. A huge wardrobe was half-draped in a filthy sheet.

'This isn't creepy at all,' Abigail muttered.

Cas stepped forward to take a closer look at the mirror. The angel peered at the murky glass, his forehead furrowing. He beckoned Abigail. 'Does this look like bl-'

And then the roof fell in.


	9. Chapter 9

Sam had raised his gun and fired two shots into Lauren Winter's back. They had barely affected her. He'd only pissed her off. With little choice but to run, he'd dashed toward the tunnels. At least it had offered Dean the chance to be rescued, to be released from whatever nightmare had rendered him so helpless.

Knowing the tunnel he and Cas had entered the chamber from was a dead end, he had aimed for the maw of the unknown passageway. He blundered through the dark, one hand on the wall. Sam knew he needed to find a way to at least slow the powerful witch down. Hopefully she was susceptible to physicality – because his fists were all he had left.

Suddenly, he could see. Sam skidded to a stop and glanced back. Torches along the tunnel in wall-brackets had come alive. One near his head burst into flames. He threw up an arm in surprise but the fire didn't leap for him. Flicking a strand of hair from his eyes, the hunter quickened his pace.

It didn't take any kind of genius to figure out how the torches had mysteriously lit themselves: Lauren was in the tunnel. And that meant she wasn't far behind.

Sam reached the end of the tunnel and hastily ascended the stairs. His heart pounded in his chest at the sight of a heavy wooden door. If it was locked he wasn't sure his lockpick would work on an antiquated keyhole. One hand on the doorhandle confirmed his worst fears. The door didn't budge.

'That hurt, hunter.' Lauren's voice echoed down the tunnel. 'You shall pay dearly for that, no matter how pretty your face.'

Sam stood for a moment in panic. Then he rammed his shoulder into the door. Twice and then three times he slammed his weight at the wooden planks. It didn't budge. His entire right side aching, he was about to give up. Then, deciding there was nothing to lose, he tried one last time.

The door swung open.

Sam pushed through into another room, this one some sort of wine cellar. He touched the gun in his waistband and felt the pocket where he kept Ruby's knife. It had occurred to him that he didn't know what or who else might be down here. And he doubted someone like Lauren Winter worked with just one large man for protection. Bullets obviously didn't kill her, but surely there was something she feared.

High heels clicked on the stairs. Sam sidled further into the room. The hunter crept through the dimness, his ears pricked for any more sounds of enemies. He crossed the room without incident and bee-lined for the dark door at its other side. Just as Sam stepped through, lanterns roared to life.

All manner of abandoned furniture, toys and decorations littered the brick-walled space; most covered in centuries' worth of dust. His own hazel eyes stared back at him from the scratched surface of a tall, ornate mirror. At its base sat a rocking horse with smudged paint and moth-eaten silk. A bejewelled necklace glittered from one arm of a silver candelabrum. Goosebumps prickled along Sam's arms.

A floorboard creaked. Years of instinct poured adrenaline into his veins and sent a hand to his gun. He held the pistol out warily, searching the dimness. The lantern light was muted by dirt-stained glass, sending mutated shadows across the floor and walls. Sam slowly made his way further in.

A man in grey dungarees slipped out from behind a sheet-covered wardrobe. Cupped in his hands was a fine gold powder. On quiet feet he followed Sam until the hunter paused beside a large (possibly Ming Dynasty) vase. The man lifted his cupped hands. Sensing something behind him, Sam began to turn. The man began to purse his lips to blow the powder into Sam's face.

It took the hunter two seconds to launch into action. Sam shoved his attacker's arms away, kicked the man's legs out and hurled him to the floor. The witch fell hard but he wasn't done yet. Rolling away from Sam's raised boot, the witch reached into a pouch sewn into his clothes.

A handful of sparkling purple dust blasted into the air. For a moment Sam thought something had gone wrong with the attack: it had simply made him close his eyes against the grit. But when he looked again – the witch was gone.

Sam spun around, his pistol cocked and ready.

A sharp pain flared across his jaw. Sam's free hand flew up to touch warm, sticky blood. _He's invisible_, the hunter realised. _And he has a knife_.

A quick glance showed a table propped against the wardrobe. Sam stepped backward until his body was pressed up against its flat teak surface. Now that there was no way he could be surprised from behind, Sam narrowed his eyes. If he couldn't see the witch, maybe he could _hear_ him.

Although he had been quiet before – now Sam was specifically looking for any noise he made. And sure enough, there was a soft hiss as something brushed against the sheet over the wardrobe. Sam pointed his gun and fired. The shot burst from the pistol's silver muzzle and sped toward seemingly empty air.

In the instant the bullet caught him in the shoulder, the witch was visible. His expression a mask of immense pain, the man stumbled backward. Sam raised his gun to shoot again but the witch sidestepped and returned to transparency. Swearing under his breath, Sam pointed his pistol in every direction he could manage.

Without warning the table was yanked sideways. Sam tumbled to the floor, violently pushed by the force. His gun and knife skittered from his hands. The table landed on its legs and skidded away to bump into the far wall. Sam gathered his wits and started scrambling to his feet. A weight shoved him down again. He felt the cold blade of the knife at his back; he felt it tug at his flesh and it slice horizontally.

Sam gasped at the pain.

He gritted his teeth. In the moment the knife was withdrawn from his skin, the hunter threw his body forward. The pearl inlay of his gun was cold in his hand. He rolled onto his back and jammed a finger on the trigger. A shard of wood whipped from the wardrobe and flipped away. _Missed, damnit!_

Sam heard the rush of air before he felt the kick to his ribs. The hunter thudded to the floor on his side. Using the momentum, Sam rolled. He snatched Ruby's knife as he did so and kept the blade flat against his wrist. With a grunt of both effort and anger, Sam plunged the knife into air.

It stuck.

The witch screamed. He flickered into sight clutching at Ruby's knife, hilt-deep in his thigh. When Sam rose, his height was suddenly threatening. The witch realised just how terrifying his foe was and it showed all over his face.

Sam blocked the weak punch with a forearm and lashed out with a foot. The man's legs gave way. He fell to the worn floorboards and tried to scramble backward. Sam's movements were all grace:

Hazel eyes cold, the hunter dropped to a knee. He wrenched Ruby's knife free, ignored the witch's cries and slammed the blade into the man's chest. Frozen in an expression of fear, the witch's head lolled limply to one side. Sam withdrew the knife and stood, his chest heaving.

He wasn't expecting the blast of air that picked him up and threw him like a dog toy. His head cracked against the floor and sent the world spinning. Sam's lanky form was halted by the faded rocking horse. Between the hair that had fallen across his face, Sam could see the (albeit blurred) shape of Lauren Winter.

Her henchman had slowed Sam enough for her to catch up. And he had little defence against a powerful witch barely susceptible to bullets. Sam groaned groggily, trying to move. If he was going to die, he was going to die facing his enemy and on his feet. At least he'd been able to give Cas time to help Dean. Surely an angel could break a witches' spell eventually.

Using the rocking horse to levy himself up, Sam hauled his body upright with difficulty. He still had his gun and the knife in his hands. Lauren Winter's purple smile sent anger through Sam Winchester. He jerked his head to toss his hair back. His pistol came up, levelled at her head.

'Even if you kill me -' Sam's half-smile was dangerous - 'My brother won't rest until you're dead.'

Lauren's raised eyebrows were patronizing. 'Ah, he's your kin, interesting.' She idly smoothed the front of her black dress as she stepped forward. 'I'm afraid there will be none left to avenge you. Abigail will have taken hislife by now.'

'Cas won't let Dean die.'

'The angel?' Lauren smiled. 'You have no idea who I am, do you?'

'You're a witch,' Sam said darkly. 'A powerful one, I'll give you that. But my brother and I've faced worse.'

Lauren slightly tilted back her head and loosed a musical laugh. It galled Sam that it was the prettiest he'd ever heard. The witch seemed genuinely amused, which rankled the hunter even more.

'Darling -' Lauren's hand twitched barely discernibly.

The rocking horse tilted on its rounded legs. It skated out from under Sam's weight and blasted to pieces against a wall. Sam dropped to his knees, agony ripping through his back and his mind still spinning. He saw Lauren's fingers twitch. Against his will, Sam let go of his weapons. He rose to his full height. His feet were to the floor, but his body was limp as a marionette.

Lauren walked forward. In response, Sam was pushed back until the icy glass of the mirror was pressing against his spine. He felt like an insect on a card, waiting for a needle to be forced through his chest so he could be added to a collection. Blood from the most serious of his wounds trickled down the mirror, having first soaked through first his shirt and then his jacket.

Sam didn't have time to worry about it, because the witch had stopped right in front of him. Lauren reached up to tuck a strand of his hair behind his ear. Sam twisted his head away, jaw clenching. 'Don't,' he grated out.

The witch laughed again, softer this time. She peered at him with some kind of sick curiosity that made Sam's skin crawl. Marionette or bug, he was being appraised. And the notion settled revoltingly in his stomach.

'Darling -' Her voice was like silver silk that clung to the air - 'As I told your late brother: you may have met witches before, but none _like me_. And the best part is that I have no use for you. The Winchester reputation has reached my ears. Your deaths shall be nothing but beneficial.'

Sam's heart had skipped a beat on hearing her use of 'late' before Dean's name, and again when she revealed he had no bargaining chip. When she suggested there was a deeper motive to her appearance in Ashland, his heart almost stopped entirely. 'Beneficial for what?'

'Why on earth would I tell _you_?' Lauren's smile widened, her eyes glittering. She was enjoying herself, this toying of a mouse between her claws. And unlike many of the enemies Sam had battled in the past: this one wasn't about to spill state secrets.

Sam Winchester decided it was time to get out of here. He jerked his head forward, smacking Lauren Winter's forehead with his own. With a grunt she fell back. The spell on Sam dissipated. Landing unsteadily on his feet, the hunter grabbed his weapons and made for the door that would get him back to his brother.


	10. Chapter 10

Lightning crackled and spat across the doorway, blue streaks of electricity that barred Sam from retreating back to the chamber where Cas and Dean presumably still were. Knowing time was everything, Sam turned and shakily headed for the only other option. He didn't know where the next heavy wooden door led, or even if it was unlocked, but as Lauren gathered herself from the floor, he was well aware he had no choice.

It was fortunate Lauren seemed disorientated too. She was wobbly when she reached out to cast a spell at Sam's fleeing form. It missed and went wide, shattering the room's second door to splinters. Sam gave his head a sharp shake and moved with renewed swiftness.

As the witch took aim again, Sam dived through the doorway. He hauled himself up and on, finding himself in a new, wider and far more modern looking tunnel. The walls were still brick, but they didn't carry the grime of age. It was obvious they had been an addition within the last several decades.

An equally modern staircase ascended to an archway. Sam used the cold wall to lean against and hobbled up the steps. When he came through the arch, he burst out into the cramped, grey space of a family mausoleum. Each of the marble plaques read the given name and year of birth and death of a member of the Winters. Sam's quick mind pasted together that five of the deaths had occurred on the exact same date of the same year.

With something of a subconscious need to believe his brother was alive, the younger Winchester resolved to relate this to Dean. For now, Sam knew he had to keep moving. He could circle back around and hopefully find the main way into the underground system.

Sam's muscles rippled in his shoulders as he heaved the marble door open. A fiery pain lanced through his back but, panting, he did his best to ignore it. When he came out into sunlight, it was to rows of gravestones. Had Dean or Abigail been there, they could have explained that this was the town cemetery onto which Mulberry Estate had backed.

Shoving Ruby's knife back into his jacket pocket, Sam decided against doing the same with his pistol. Whether he came across civilians or not, he needed to try and slow Lauren down.

**/**

Dean blinked. For a moment he was confused. Hadn't he just been arguing with – And then it hit him.

'Damnit, Cas.'

Abigail was gone too, he realized, and the chamber was empty. Apart from the body of one of the men he'd noticed at Sal's bar. Considering the corpse still had its eyes, Dean concluded the killer had been Sam and not Cas. So where had his brother gone?

As he eased himself into a sitting position, Dean winced. Although he barely recalled what he'd been through between the present and feeling hot and ill at the bar, his head pounded. He wiped a hand over his face and spat more blood.

'Alright, Dean,' he muttered to himself, 'You gotta find Sammy.'

When he was standing and there was only one of everything instead of three, Dean limped to where the body lay. Relief washed over him when he saw his pistol in the belt of the dead man. He yanked it free and ran a hand over the familiar engraving. Dean Winchester always felt better with a gun in his hand.

The next port of call was apparently choosing a tunnel.

Dean glanced at the twin openings that stood only a few metres from each other. Both were dark and unlit. For all appearances they were identical, except that only one probably led to Sam.

'Crap.' He huffed a bone-weary sigh. 'Screw it: eeny meeny miney moe.'

The rhyme had landed his gaze on the right hand tunnel. With no other option and no other ideas, Dean walked into the darkness.

**/**

Warned by a deafening rumble overhead and bits of rock falling at her feet, Abigail had thrown her arms over her head as the world caved in. Now she was squeezed between two enormous blocks of ceiling, trapped by a third that had fortunately fallen horizontally across its fellows. Trying to remind herself that there was air enough to breathe, she clenched her fists until her nails left sickle-shaped cuts in her skin.

Thankfully, sunlight as well as oxygen had managed to worm its way through a few fissures and holes. The shafts of pale gold turned what could have been pitch blackness into a gloom she could handle. Not for the first time, Abby silently cursed that her power wasn't something physical. Tapping into a person's memories could only be so useful.

She puffed at a tress of luminescent blue hair. _I can't just sit here_, she told herself. _They need me. _Twisting around in the tight space, Abigail found a tiny gap where one of her prison's supports met the accidental roof. Squinting, she peered through.

It was worse than she'd expected. What had moments before been an underground room was now completely open to the sky. Gravestones, shattered wooden coffins and mostly-decomposed skeletons jutted from soil that had poured atop the rubble. Beneath that, lay the stone that had once separated the cemetery from Mulberry Estate's hidden storage room.

Abigail guessed the chamber where she had been tricked into hurting Dean Winchester had been directly beneath the mansion. Or rather, where the huge building had stood before its demolition.

There was no sign of the angel - Cas. Swapping her eye for her mouth, Abigail called his name. For a moment she thought she heard a muted reply. When there was neither movement nor louder shout, she resolved hope was making her hear things. Having never met an angel before, Abby was unsure Cas had survived. Did a huge piece of stone trump angelic power?

She withdrew and swallowed, trying to return some moisture to her dry mouth. At the same time, she sucked in a breath filled with dust. Her coughing fit drowned out any noise of Cas' approach.

Black hair and trenchcoat sprinkled with dirt, a bleeding cut above an eyebrow, Castiel clambered over the debris beyond Abigail's prison. The ceiling's collapse had surprised the angel as much as the (albeit magical) human and he had barely managed to scramble into the shelter of the huge wardrobe. Earth, gravestones, coffins and stone had built up around him, but he had escaped mostly unscathed.

Aware of the blood trickling down his face, Cas decided that finding Abigail took priority. He didn't know how badly she might be injured and, if it was even worse than that, he would need all his supernatural energy to resurrect her. His borrowed Grace lent him much of the power his true Grace would, but there were many limitations.

Cas stepped awkwardly over a splintered coffin and half-fell down a slight slope of rubble and earth. As he slid to a stop at the bottom, his boots bumped into a thick slab of yellow-ish stone. Judging by its size, it had not so long ago been part of the storage room ceiling. From a nearby hole he heard a long exhalation.

'Abby?' he called, his husky voice made coarser by the dust still floating in the air.

'You're alright!'

The cry came from _behind_ the gap. Cas knelt beside it to peer through. At the other end, he could just make out blue hair and a staring violet pupil.

'Are you injured?' he asked.

'I don't think so,' came the anxious reply. 'I reckon it mostly missed me.'

'Good.'

'Can you – Can you get me out?'

Cas levered himself to his feet and surveyed the damage. If he could find the strength to lift the stone slab on top, then Abby would be freed in no time. He summoned his Grace. It burned to life in his veins, flooding his vessel with familiar warmth. Cas could tell, however, that his "mojo" had been quite weakened in transporting himself and Sam, his encounter with Lauren Winter's immobilization spell, and sending Dean to sleep.

'Cas?' Abby's voice came through the gap again.

He leaned down, his semi-chapped lips a grim line. 'Hold still. I'll move this stone.'

'Wow… Okay.' There was rustling as Abigail tried to make herself as small as possible.

Cas felt along the slab's base for any handholds. When he'd managed to squeeze his fingers into position, he started to push. The muscles of his vessel strained, standing out beneath his plain white dress shirt. Jimmy Novak had been strong, but this was a task plain human strength could never achieve. Not alone.

The angelic blue glow that was Grace itself blazed from Cas' eyes. It rippled under his skin like something alive. It seemed to even dim the sun. Beneath the onslaught, the thick slab began to grate backward. Abigail wrapped her arms around her face as dust pattered down over her. Cas gritted his teeth.

He sensed the presence behind him moments before the witch struck. A red-haired woman lunged at the angel with startling ferocity. Cas sidestepped at the last second and shoved her hard against the stone. Her torso folded over the slab's surface. She grunted but kicked out. His kneecap belted inward, Cas found himself kneeling against his will. Moving the stone had made him weak.

The witch turned, panting heavily, hair spilling across her face. Her expression and dishevelled appearance lent her an air of madness. Cas felt the chill of steel at his throat and tilted his head back.

'It's a pity you're needed alive, _angel_.' She spat the name of his race as though it was a bad taste in her mouth.

'Alive?' Cas echoed, blue eyes searching her face. 'Who needs me alive?'

The witch simply smirked. 'You'll find out soon enough, sweetheart. And so will your friends.'

'Where is Sam?' Cas' demand was harsh, his eyes narrowed. 'What have you done with him?'

'The tall one? Nothing yet.' She licked her lips provocatively. 'Don't fret. You'll see him soon.'

Her face twisted. The witch screeched and clutched at her chest. She was shunted to the ground, where she lay writhing until she died. Abigail stood with a bloodied shard of rock in one hand. Her violet eyes passed over the witch's body before she tossed her makeshift weapon aside. She stepped forward and helped Cas to his feet.

'Thanks,' Cas grunted. 'How did you get free?'

Abby nodded to the slab. 'You'd moved it just enough for me to wiggle through. It was a bit of a challenge getting my hips through –' She slapped her sides for emphasis – 'But I managed.'

Cas nodded. 'I'm glad you did.'

'Yeah.' Abigail winked up at him. 'Me too.'

Cas smiled awkwardly, unsure quite what to make of this odd girl with bright blue hair and strange eyes.

She laughed at him good-naturedly. Then she sobered and jerked her chin toward a slope of rubble that led to level ground. 'Looks like we have to go that way.'


	11. Chapter 11

**Hope everyone is enjoying the story so far! I'm aware that there are a few plot holes and continuity errors - these will be resolved in a re-write that will occur once the story is completed. (Only a couple more chapters to go!)**

**A big thank you to those who have reviewed! It keeps me wanting to write and makes me incredibly happy. If you have the time to comment on whether the writing style and/or character dialogue fits canon SPN - I would be most grateful. I'm quite worried about Dean and Cas' speech, as I'm not sure I get it right every time. So let me know if it doesn't match canon and I will do my best to fix it up!**

**This is only the start of a much larger story arc, so I really hope everyone sticks around and reads the next installments! Much love to you all (especially those darling reviewers) and feel free to shoot me some feedback. xx**

* * *

><p>The storage room roof collapse happened moments after Sam had left the mausoleum. The younger Winchester had moved through the cemetery with the intention of finding his way back to the remnants of the Mulberry Estate. Lauren Winter had bought an immediate end to that plan.<p>

Storming from her ancestor's place of resting, she caught sight of Sam weaving between headstones. Her plum lips twitched. She raised a single hand and closed her eyes. For a moment, nothing happened. Then the ground began to split in two. The jagged line uprooted graves, coffins, skeletons and wrinkled tree roots. It streaked in a wide circle until the earth was coming apart beneath Sam's boots.

'The Hell!' Sam stepped backward in a hurry. He span around and saw Lauren twitch her hand. The soil crumbled under his weight.

Sam fell, dirt and stone flicking into his eyes. He reached a hand out. His fingers snagged on a thick tree root and held on. His feet dangled in an open space; the rest of his body was encased with earth. He kicked out, boosting himself toward the surface. The lanky hunter grunted with the effort of pulling his weight up with one hand. He wedged his boot between soil and stone and managed the final push.

Sam hauled his body out and half-collapsed on solid ground. His chest heaved. His fingers still clutched the pearl-inlaid grip of his pistol. Beyond where he lay, the cemetery practically vanished. Lauren had obliterated a huge circular stretch of earth and stone, sending it plunging into the underground room below. On hands and knees, Sam was about to peer down.

'You cannot escape me, boy!' Lauren called. She had strode forward from the doorway of the mausoleum and now stood only a few metres away.

'Long time since anyone called me "boy",' Sam shouted back, getting to his feet.

Lauren smiled. 'Trust me, I am much older than you.' Her face darkened. 'And far more dangerous.'

'We'll see.' Sam tapped the trigger of his pistol.

Lauren's smile widened into a smirk. 'Come now, we've already done this.'

Invisible power made the air around her shimmer. It was like staring at something through the wavering of water or a curtain of heat. Strands of her hair were plucked up by a breeze that seemed to belong only to her. Lauren began to raise an outstretched hand.

Sam thought fast. With little other choice, he whipped up his gun and fired. The bullet screamed through the air, through Lauren's glistening shroud and straight into the meaty flesh of her palm. The spell vanished as her arm snapped back. Her head jerked up, her eyes blazing with fury. A snarl replaced the witch's smile. Her hand flexed and the bullet was pushed from her skin. It dropped to the earth at her feet.

Sam skidded on his back behind a lopsided gravestone. There was the sound of tearing soil. Marble crashed into marble as a huge headstone hurtled into the one shielding the hunter. Sam ducked, arms protecting his head. He rolled behind another just as his previous shelter was obliterated. Panting, Sam collected himself for the next dive. But there were no more gravestones. Fear trickled icy through his veins.

He swallowed hard and scrambled to his feet. If he waited, she would destroy this hiding place too. As soon as she saw him rise, Lauren swept a hand in a circular motion. Shards of marble rose like a flock of pale birds. They floated there, at her shoulders and beside her waist, with murderous intent. The colour drained from Sam's face. He glanced over his shoulder. He was certain he couldn't reach the tree-lined fringes of the cemetery before being skewered. Would a lifetime of being so close to meeting Death be enough to save him? Sam Winchester was about to find out.

Lauren Winter's index finger twitched almost imperceptibly. A marble spear was catapulted forward. Eyes narrowed, Sam steadied his nerves. CRACK! The shard exploded in mid-air between the witch and the hunter. Sam's pistol was raised. For a moment, Lauren's anger was palpable.

Bullets shattered the next four floating marble shards in succession. So far, Sam hadn't missed. There were two left, still lingering docile by Lauren's slender form. Sam took a deep breath to steady his hands. His gaze matched Lauren's without wavering. Her whole hand visibly gestured. She sent her last weapons toward the hunter that had so far eluded her.

CRACK! BANG! Sam's pistol fired quickly. Both shards exploded, one right beside the other. Sam could barely believe he was still standing. Sweat beaded on his forehead and soaked the back of his shirt. He took a step back, still aiming the gun at Lauren. If his luck held out, he could make it to the safety of the cemetery's tree line.

'If my brother's hurt,' he shouted fiercely, 'You had better watch your back!'

'Perhaps you should watch yours.' Lauren's easy answer sent a chill through his body that replaced his weariness with a new spurt of adrenaline. Sam spun on his heels –

At the last second, he dropped to his knees. The marble shard that had been floating behind him, almost pressing into his nose, careered over his head. Lauren held up a hand and idly watched it crumble the closer it got to her.

Lauren's tinkling laugh bite through the afternoon sunshine. Breathless, Sam stumbled to his feet. When he caught sight of the reason for the witch's sudden good mood, he thought his heart might stop there and then. She had turned more headstones into dangerous projectiles and was readying them for a renewed assault.

Sam felt his legs shaking. He pushed his sweat-damp hair from his face and prepared his gun. Lauren seemed extremely amused. And he soon realised why: she had just been toying with him so far. This time, she _meant_ to hurt him. Badly.

Three aged marble shards, two still with moss greening their surfaces, left their brethren like fighter jets. Sam pulled the trigger. SMACK! He did it again. CRACK! And for the last. Click. Click. The Taurus was out of bullets.

It was as though time slowed down. Sam could see the tapering end of the gravestone spear coursing toward him. He could pick out the last two letters of the engraved name. He had time to wonder who had been buried beneath it, and if their life had turned out much better than his own. Sam refused to shut his eyes. He would face the end.

BANG!

A sound as familiar to Sam as his brother's voice rattled into his private world. Dean's engraved 1911 colt fired the bullet that saved Sam's life. Covered in dirt from head to toe, his most terrifying glare sighting down his gun, Dean stood on the grass about sixteen feet away. He was about to turn his burning stare on Lauren Winter when his younger brother's cry smashed into his ears.

Sam was slumped to the ground, a hand to his left shoulder, blood dripping between his fingers. Though the marble had exploded, it had been extremely close. Most of the debris had scattered either side of the hunter – but one of the larger pieces had hit Sam _hard_.

'Sammy!' Dean's fear for his brother released him of any remaining exhaustion. He pelted across the destroyed cemetery, dropped to the dirt and slid a short distance on his knees. He pressed a hand over Sam's own. 'Hold on, little brother,' he grunted, awkwardly tearing his shirt to make a bandage.

A shadow blocked out the sun and Dean looked up. Lauren Winter was standing over them, her plum lips curved in a patronizing grin. 'How sweet.'

'I'm gonna kill you, bitch,' Dean growled. He snatched his pistol from the ground beside his knee.

Lauren's mouth twitched her disdain. 'I, for one, am tired of getting _shot_.' Dean's colt tore from his grasp and spun into Lauren's. She aimed it at his thigh. 'How about we turn the tables?'


	12. Chapter 12

It wasn't as bad as the memories of Hell, but it fucking hurt. A bullet from his _own_ gun plunged into his thigh at almost point-blank range. Dean's shout of agony was stifled when he gritted his teeth. He blinked hard, his eyes watering and his breath faltering. A sound not unlike rushing water began to gnaw at his ability to understand what was happening.

Still wilted beside Dean, Sam's muscles tensed. The younger hunter choked back a sob as he pushed his injured side against his brother to prop him up. The pain gave him clarity. Sam's blood soaked Dean's coat as he took his hand from the wound in his shoulder.

Lauren saw the glint of light on naked steel a moment too late. Ruby's demon-killing knife flicked from the form of the two fallen hunters and struck her high in her stomach. Slowly, disbelievingly, as she had done with the first bullet Sam had fired into her, the witch stared down at this new impairment.

And then Sam saw it. Or _thought_ he saw it. The tiniest spark of orange light flickered at the corner of Lauren's widened eyes, then in the tips of her fingers, then beneath the fabric of her dress where the blade entered. And then it was gone as if it had never happened at all. The witch wrapped her hand around the knife's handle and drew it free with a horrible slurping sound.

She saw Sam watching her. 'You should have stayed fun,' she informed him darkly.

This time, Dean did cry out. The second bullet lodged itself in his other thigh, doubling the blazing agony and swallowing his consciousness completely. His stocky body fell against Sam's lanky form, and pushed the marble splinter deeper into Sam's shoulder. Sam's face twisted, something that was half-grunt and half-shout tearing from his parted lips.

Lauren laughed. And to Sam the noise was suddenly farther from beautiful than anything he had ever heard. The hunter rasped in air, a look of complete loathing knitting his eyebrows together.

'A new world order is coming, darling,' Lauren's honeyed voice told him. 'And in it you, angels, demons – you're all nothing but cockroaches.' Her gaze shifted to Dean. 'Even your brother.'

Dean's head lolled back as Lauren's magic pulled his body up. Sam lunged for Dean's coat but a wall of air slammed him back down. As Sam had been in the underground room, Dean was a puppet completely at the witch's will. Lauren's power tilted the older hunter until he was upright in the air with his arms spread wide. Had there been a cross, Dean would have looked crucified.

'No,' Sam choked out. He struggled weakly and felt the blood drain faster from his shoulder. 'Please…' He knew Dean couldn't be killed; the Mark would see to that. But if Dean died … would those black eyes flicker back?

Lauren's arm was ramrod straight as she raised Dean's colt and placed the muzzle to his forehead. She misread Sam's dread. 'Don't worry,' Lauren purred. 'You will be next.'

The witch's finger pressed down against the trigger. Though the bullet was for Dean, Sam felt it tear through his own heart as the gunshot echoed. His brother's body fell to the ground at his feet. Dean Winchester had survived a death at the hands of Metatron, had been bought back from the edge of demonic insanity, only to fall again to his own gun.

Sam felt his every limb relax. He stopped fighting the spell that held him down and let his head rest against the soil. Blood was still pumping from his shoulder. If he didn't get help… But to be honest he was tired. Not just physically – but mentally weighed down. If Atlas had had the entire world upon his shoulders, Sam felt he and his brother had carried the whole universe. He didn't think he had the stomach for another round of curing Demon Dean.

But then Lauren shrieked in wrath and Sam felt the pressure pinning him fade away. With difficulty he pushed himself half-up. Castiel was standing between Lauren Winter and Dean's body, his Angel Blade arcing toward Lauren's throat. In a heart-stopping moment, Sam saw his brother's chest raggedly rise and fall. Lauren had missed. Cas had intervened. Dean _was alive_.

Glowering at Castiel, the witch spat something Sam didn't hear before she simply –

Vanished. One moment she was there, the next, Cas' blade was slicing emptiness and Dean's colt was clattering to the ground. Ignoring the gun, the angel turned and dropped to a knee. His hands hovered over Dean's thighs where blood oozed slowly from the twin bullet holes. Blue light flared and the flesh closed itself over. All Dean had to show for it were two small, round gaps in his jeans in the midst of both thighs.

Sam opened his mouth to speak but instead found himself reaching out to awkwardly steady the angel. He frowned. 'Are you okay, Cas?'

'It's my Grace,' Cas murmured, 'I had to free Abby.'

'Where is Abigail?'

'The whore is right here.' At Lauren's unexpected answer, Sam and Cas froze.

Dean's eyelids fluttered as he woke, but neither his best friend nor his brother noticed. Their eyes had both turned to regard the witch in horror. Ruby's knife to her neck, Abigail was trembling in Lauren Winter's savage hold. Her blue hair vivid against the paleness of her face, the girl swallowed and locked gazes with Sam.

The hunter gave a slight, meaningful nod: he and Cas would do their best to save her. Abby obviously wasn't entirely reassured, but a hint of courage flitted across her red lips in a weak smile. Hoping desperately that Cas could at least get to his feet, Sam rose. Thankfully, the angel hauled himself upright and shot Lauren a hooded glare. His angel blade slipped back into his hand.

Sam moved to snatch up his brother's pistol.

'Touch it and she dies,' Lauren hissed. To prove her point, she pressed the knife deeper against Abby's skin. Blood welled along the steel. Abigail whimpered helplessly, the bravery she had mustered slipping away. Tears collected in her violet eyes.

Sam raised his hands in supplication. 'Okay,' he begrudged. 'Alright.'

'This little flower is coming with me, darlings. As insurance. Should you follow me, you will find only her body.' Lauren took a step backward, dragging Abby with her.

'Wait!' Sam shouted.

The witch paused.

'We won't try to track you down,' the hunter reassured her. Although it was a lie, Sam's expression was carefully stony. 'Let Abby go.'

Lauren's plum mouth curled into her, now unfortunately familiar, suggestive smile. One perfect eyebrow rose. 'You are in no position to bargain, Sam Winchester. And you should not make promises you shall not keep.'

'Sam,' Abigail sobbed. 'Please… Help me.'

For the first time, the hunter noticed the girl's hands were bound in front of her. He glanced at Lauren Winter with realization. Everyone had something they didn't want to remember – and it was obvious now that the witch was no exception. Sam cursed inwardly that Dean was out of the game. One meaningful look at his brother and they would have both had the same plan in their heads. They would have moved like cogs in a fine-tuned machine.

Would Cas have had the same recognition? The angel was still staring daggers at Lauren – he hadn't looked at the girl at all; Sam doubted he had noticed the rope around her wrists. The hunter's heart thudded painfully and he could hear its beating in his ears. They had one chance at this. If they got it wrong: Abigail would be dead. Sam sucked in a breath.

'Cas!' he yelled, 'Her hands!'

Everything happened at once. Castiel disappeared in the sound of wings. Lauren stared Sam Winchester right in the eyes; fury crackled in the very air around her. The witch shoved Abigail forward. Sam moved to catch her. Cas reappeared between Lauren and the blue-haired girl. He reached out a hand, his palm glowing with the Grace it would take to smite her.

His fingertips touched her forehead. Lauren grabbed the angel's wrist and drew Cas into a knee to his stomach. Cas' grace faded as he stumbled away from the force. Lauren jammed the long heel of her high heels into his kneecap. There was an awful crunching sound and then Cas was being tossed backward to the ground. Lauren raised her own hand, glittering with magic.

'Cas!' Sam yelled from somewhere behind.

The angel gasped breath back into his lungs. Bright blue eyes could only watch as the witch readied her power to kill him. Lauren's laughter was gut-wrenchingly gleeful. And then suddenly something silver was blurring through the air. It caught Lauren above the eyebrow, jerked her head to one side and drew blood.

At the same time, Abigail leaped over Cas' prone form –

And tightened her fingers around Lauren Winter's forearm. The witch's scream carried even more pain than Dean's had in the underground chamber. Her head was thrown back, her eyes squeezed shut and her mouth slack. Abigail's grip tightened ruthlessly. The girl gritted her teeth and once again seemed far older than her years. The raw anger in her unsettled Sam so much that he called out.

'Abby, that's enough!'

She slightly turned her head, but gave no other inclination she had heard Sam's words. Lauren trembled, tears leaking down her face. Abigail dug her fingernails into the witch's flesh. Her blue hair was whipped into a flurry by a gush of wind.

'Stop, Abby,' Cas ordered gently, appearing beside her. He placed a hand on the girl's shoulder. She tensed at the touch like a feline ready to strike … But released Lauren and pushed her away.

The witch stumbled and fell. She landed in the dirt on her hands and knees, her thick black hair sliding over her face. Sobs wracked her shoulders. Her entire body quivered. Cas moved to haul her up, mostly oblivious (or perhaps unsympathetic) to her emotional pain.

With a dreadful screech Lauren twisted to her knees and lashed out with a hand. Her fingernails scored four long gashes across Cas' cheek, nose and chin. The angel jerked back in shock.

'I will kill _every_ _one of you_!' the witch hissed savagely.

There was a blinding eruption of shimmering golden smoke. And then Lauren Winter was finally gone.

* * *

><p><strong>Seriously, guys, does the dialogue fit the show? And I wouldn't mind some more reviews, kiddies. They reassure me what I write doesn't majorly suck! But thanks to those who <em>have<em> reviewed so far! xx**


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